but you hold the answers to the equation
by xsummerbluesx
Summary: Ginger Hirano wakes up not quite eleven years old, married, and not at all caught up to date with current affairs… let's see how long it takes her to realize that her last name isn't Hirano. Ginger/Baljeet


**but you hold the answers to the equation**

by Summer Blues

* * *

Ginger woke to an all-white, sterile room. It smelled like the hospital. She slowly opened her eyes. Unlike most mornings, her hair was not in her face. Wait. Where _was_ her hair? She lifted a hand to her head. Short...hair? Since when did she have short hair?

Wearily, she propped herself onto her elbows, the room spinning and her head pounding. She pulled the strands of hair in front of her eyes to examine. It was hers. The short hair was hers. She blinked until the room was clear when someone spoke beside her.

"You've been unconscious for over a week."

The voice was masculine and...familiar, unbelievably so. Careful...worried – Ginger slowly turned toward its source, and jumped.

Baljeet Tjinder sat beside her bed. One of his legs was drawn in his chair, and he wasn't looking her way, but his eyes were closed, his body hunched, and his head lowered.

She didn't catch his heavy sigh, or the fact that he was immensely relieved, just that _Baljeet_ was _sitting beside her_.

And _talking_ to her.

She was hit by a wave of dizziness.

The boy was taller...why was he taller? He was dressed differently as well, a tailored jacket was on the table beside him. Baljeet opened his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, still not looking at her.

"Do you remember what happened, _Ginger_?"

He took particular care in pronouncing her name, exaggerated emphasis on both syllables, as if he was mocking her, as if he _knew_ her. Ginger's heart raced. What did Baljeet have to do with _her?_ Why did he seem _different_, and why was he beside her? "N-n-no," she squeaked, clutching her sheets to her chest.

Wait...what? There was a softness beneath her hands. She slowly looked down at herself. _Breasts!?_

Baljeet finally looked at her, as if surprised by the smallness of her voice. "Are you all right?"

_No_, she wanted to say, but she couldn't speak. Why would she be all right when her crush was actually giving her the time of day? The last thing she remembered was seeing Isabella doze off into Phineasland. What had happened since then? Why was she in a hospital?

Baljeet slowly stood from his seat, eying her paling face and trembling shoulders. He was tall, and it wasn't just that. His face had aged, his hair held remnants of old gel, and his hands, calloused, reached down to steady her. His eyes were becoming unreserved, offering things that confused her. _Concern!? _She watched him bite his mouth and touch her forehead, as if to check for a fever. "You'd insisted on going to visit your sister," Baljeet muttered, withdrawing his hand and leaning over her. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly glaring. "I told you not to go. I didn't _want _you to go." His voice was oddly solemn and serious. How could he expect she wasn't being weirded out right now? Baljeet placed a hand on her shoulder, and their faces were suddenly inches apart. He pulled her closer still, his nose brushing hers, as if he intended to—

For the first time in her life, Ginger released a horrified scream. It was loud enough to wake the dead, and jolt every nurse along the corridor.

Baljeet abruptly released her, pulling away. The door burst open and medics flooded the room, but Ginger continued to scream, only vaguely aware of the fact that she was hysterical. She watched Isabella rush to her side carrying a needle. She felt the point press into her arm, and the room became black again.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

Yet another person she barely knew. She was simply thankful the man sitting beside her wasn't Baljeet again.

But the Indian boy—no _man_—was present, arms crossed, standing against the wall watching her again.

Ginger stared back, feeling her heart race. She wanted to run, hide – to scream again, because at that moment Baljeet looked as though she knew half the answers to a complex problem he was trying to solve but she had lost them somewhere in between.

And Ginger stared. She could do nothing _but _stare. Her body was numb, her throat weak, the world – _hazy. _She was being suppressed by the sedatives Isabella had injected her with that morning.

Coltrane seemed to notice the silent war waging between the two. He threw a pointed look over his shoulder.

"Baljeet, maybe you should leave," he drawled.

There was a pause in which Baljeet might have considered it, for he looked briefly at the floor.

"I would rather not leave her."

Ginger felt suddenly unsettled as a new thought hit her. This was a sick joke wasn't it? Like the ones in books where the person had a really vivid dream only to wake up, or a comedy show where people were hiding beiond curtains with cameras to film all your mistakes. Why else would Baljeet even been talking to her...someone was waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike... The young woman barely noticed as her sister's on-and-off boyfriend continued to speak.

"She might be easier to talk to if you're not here."

"That's not what I want to do right now."

Coltrane briefly smiled and gave her a light-hearted shrug with a what-can-you-do candor, and Ginger didn't know why. He must have noticed the confused panic in her eyes, for he grabbed her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Ginger, we think you might have amnesia."

_Amnesia?_

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Baljeet was closely watching her from across the room. She tried not to look back. "I – I-" she took a gulp of air. "I-I-I-"

Coltrane moved completely in front of her, successfully blocking Baljeet from view. "Breathe," he urged her.

She complied, closing her eyes, and sucking in deep breaths. Why was her head pounding? Why did she have short hair, and – breasts!

_Amnesia, _Coltrane had said. She had lost a gap of memory. How much?

"Ginger, you're twenty-five," the guitar teacher said, as though sensing her uncertainty.

The Hirano's eyes snapped open. _Twenty-five!? How could she be twenty-five!? She was eleven. Eleven! __**Eleven!**_

Coltrane sighed, ignoring her look of denial. "Baljeet's your-"

"Coltrane, I know Stacy's been expecting you to call back and let her know about Ginger's condition, now that you've seen her why don't you take care of it right now" interrupted Baljeet.

Her eyes widened, and she looked at Baljeet, then back at Coltrane, _Why couldn't Stacy just come herself?_

The guitarist blinked. He threw another odd look over his shoulder at his frowning friend. "What?"

"You're obviously unnerving her," mentioned Baljeet sardonically.

A bead of sweat rolled down Ginger's temple as Coltrane's eyebrow twitched. His odd look became a bemused one. He opened his mouth to retort, but bit his tongue. "Fine," he said with a half smile.

Ginger's heart threatened to burst. What was going on?

Coltrane turned back to Ginger, patting her arm reassuringly. His eyes were sympathetic, and...laughing? He leaned down to whisper something she could barely make out.

"_He's my brother-in-law and I know him pretty well. I like him. __**You **__like him. Baljeet's not the out-of-reach kid anymore. Just try not to have a heart attack when he tells you."_

_Tells me what? _she wanted to ask, but she couldn't speak, she could only breathe.

She nearly cried as Coltrane stood. He was the only thing really familiar right now "I'll see you in Tokyo this December, Ginger. Hopefully you'll be normal by then."

_Tokyo?_

Her heart sunk to her stomach as Coltrane exited the room. When the door closed behind him, Baljeet pushed himself off the wall and took the empty seat beside her bed. She watched him slowly reach behind him and pull up a messenger bag by his seat. Her head tilted in curiosity.

That's when Baljeet, oddly, reached into it and unearthed a laptop, paper...and a pencil? He kept work in there!?

Well…it would probably make sense. It wasn't as if he was a murderer or something.

"You should get some rest," Baljeet mentioned, not looking at her as he placed the laptop on the table, the notepad on a crossed knee, and began to scribble something down.

Ginger slowly sunk into the bed, pulling the sheets over her head. She didn't notice the corner of Baljeet's mouth twitch as he watched her from the corner of his eye.

* * *

He was there again when she awoke the next morning. She wondered whether he had even left. In school, it had been rumored that Baljeet barely slept, that he devoted his time to reading, testing scientific theories, and doing advanced math problems. She imagined him watching her sleep, and wasn't sure what to make of it.

If that were true, though, then she envied him for being able to avoid getting bags under his eyes. She watched him continue to write. Sometimes he walked over to the window where his phone was charging and spent some time typing long messages. Who could all those messages possibly be for?

He seemed to notice her curious glances. "I'm planning to take an...unexpected vacation from my post. I have to keep in touch with the headquarters in D.C. until then."

Then why was he still in Danville? To be with _her? _And what kind of post did he have that required his constant correspondence? He must have been important. Perhaps a businessman...maybe even some sort of executive.

Baljeet returned to his seat as a nurse entered with breakfast. Toast with fake butter and orange juice, but what more could she expect from a hospital? She watched the nurse pull out a small flashlight and examine her eyes, though it was rather pointless seeing that she'd been pretty fully functioning for awhile now (at least when she was awake). "How's your head?" the woman inquired.

"Um...it hurts a little," mumbled Ginger, feeling rather awkward that Baljeet was listening in on her check-up. Was it even legal? "What happened?" she questioned.

"You suffered head injuries in an attempted kidnapping while switching planes in Atlanta," stated the nurse simply. "We were very worried about you. You were in a coma for a while, but you seem to be doing a lot better now that you're with your-" she paused. "What's the last thing you remember?" the nurse questioned, and took to examining a spot near the back of Ginger's skull.

Ginger blinked, slightly confused as to what the woman had been on the verge of saying. She was too disordered to analyze the situation. The head examination was painful – and dizzying. " My friends and I were at Danville Park making this machine to blow gigantic bubbles," she mumbled. "We just finished fifth grade."

Baljeet was watching her again. A look of surprise briefly crossed his face before he replaced it with a neutral face. Why was he concerned? Were they...somehow, actually... real friends?

When the nurse left she laid back and stared tiredly at the ceiling, half-lidded eyes only wanting to close. She felt confused...exhausted...like she was missing a piece of her life. She was twenty-five, and she didn't know _who _she was at that moment. Did she go to college? Was she still in college? Was she still living with her family, or on her own ? Did she have a boyfriend? Maybe that's why Baljeet was here. He cared about her like _that_, maybe he'd been about to ask her out when she got into this accident. She felt her cheeks warm.

And then reality struck her. She snapped her eyes closed.

Her and Baljeet? Not likely. All he'd done was spoken about ten words to her since she'd been awake. She was probably alone, just as she had suspected she'd be all her life. But was it wrong to still hope...that maybe...some day...?

"Are you all right?"

Ginger opened her eyes and glanced at Baljeet. Again, that curiosity in his eyes. It was unnerving for some reason.

"You seem flushed," he mentioned.

Her blush deepened. How was she supposed to answer that? She needed a diversion, and looked at her untouched breakfast. "D-Do you want some?"

She had offered to share her breakfast with Baljeet.

_Oh god, she had offered to share her breakfast with Baljeet!_

"I'm not hungry," the man mentioned, but seemed to freeze, and he slowly lowered his pencil. He tiredly rested his face against his knuckles. "So you're finally warming up to me?"

Ginger stared at him, feeling strangely mortified. "Wh-what?" she squeaked, blushing.

There was slight upturn to the side of his lips. "I changed my mind, I'm feeling hungry. Can I have some, Ginger?"

Always saying her name like that. Always so familiar with her.

Friends. Maybe she was right...they were... really good friends? She picked up a piece of toast and nervously handed it to Baljeet. He raised it to his lips but didn't open his mouth, instead opting to stare at her. Sometimes he stopped writing his messages to blatantly watch her. It was a habit of his, a shameless one, because he knew she was aware of it yet didn't seem to care. It made her extremely uncomfortable – well, more so than she already was. She found herself seeking yet another distraction.

Coltrane had called Baljeet his brother-in-law...did that mean...? "So you or Coltrane is married?"

Baljeet briefly nodded. "He and his wife had a child eight months ago..." he trailed off.

Ginger slowly smiled. She wanted to know more – about her life, about her peers, but didn't know how to ask. Baljeet seemed to read her. "Your Fireside scout mate– _Isabella? – _has a daughter with Phineas Flynn."

Her eyes widened. "H-how old?" she asked shyly.

"Two."

She contained a squeal and Baljeet contained his amusement.

" Milly and Buford are getting married next March, and Django and Adyson just started dating."

"No way." Ginger gasped.

"Your sister-"

Her eyes widened.

"-is the President of Uruguay."

Oh.

Ginger suddenly turned away from him, suddenly feeling rather sick. Privacy, she needed privacy, just for a moment. "I...I have to..." she trailed off, climbing out of the bed. It was dawning on her how much she no longer knew. Baljeet didn't move from his seat as she ambled wearily past him to the bathroom, and but when she wasn't looking he rose up and trailed hesitantly behind her, prepared to catch her in case she fell.

* * *

The next morning she doused her face in cold water before looking up into the mirror. Her mom had never allowed her to have hair this short. It barely reached her shoulder. Her face looked more refined and mature than confused, as she felt. And her body – she had a _body, _not a girl's but a woman's, and it was—

Wow. She might only memories of her first eleven years, but having an older sister meant she knew about _other_ things a lot sooner.

She stared at herself, jaw slack.

Maybe Baljeet was hanging around for reasons other than just to keep her company. It _would _explain all the staring. She exited the bathroom, arms folded uncomfortably over her bust. Baljeet eyed her as she climbed into her bed and pulled her sheets up to her nose. She had a body. A _nice _body. What was she to do with such a body?

Her face turned pink.

And so, Baljeet was back for her daily scrutiny – or brainwashing – session. She couldn't yet determine just which it was – or exactly what he wanted. Even if they _were _friends, hadn't he been around long enough?

He smelled good...which she appreciated, because she never saw him come or go.

It was that afternoon that she finally worked up the courage to ask, "What are you doing here?"

"You're occasionally prone to anxiety attacks when under stress," Baljeet responded simply, not looking up from the blueprints he was sketching. "Isabella says I should give you time to get used to me."

Ginger cocked her head to the side. "Why?"

Baljeet didn't respond.

* * *

It was her fourth day alone in that room with Baljeet, that Ginger thought she possibly might go crazy.

However...he wasn't quite what she'd chalked him up to be in her mind. He was actually more...boring, than he was exciting. She was tempted to throw something at him to see if he'd react.

But she barely knew him, and she was _Ginger_. "Isabella's friend" Ginger. She didn't randomly throw things at people...right?

But she wasn't Ginger.

She didn't know _who _she was anymore.

Something inside her made her _really _want to bother Baljeet.

She glanced at him, surprised that his head was back, eyes closed. _Baljeet can sleep?_

"I'm not sleeping," he spoke out loud, as though he could read her mind. Ginger blinked. The man hadn't moved or opened his eyes. "Not that I caneven sleep these days," Baljeet continued with a wry laugh.

She continued to stare. Baljeet had become so...open with her and her with him. They spoke sometimes – casually. It was odd seeing Baljeet casual with anyone.

And he was always there, watching her...looking after her?

"Are we...f-friends in the real world?" Ginger asked in a small voice.

"This is the real world," Baljeet responded benignly.

She ignored him, lightly shaking her head. "Or maybe we work together?"

There was a pause.

"We're friends. We help each other with our work," he admitted.

"So you're...good?" asked Ginger, feeling heat rise to her face in embarrassment.

Baljeet turned his head to glare at her.

Ginger bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to continue. "You said I was visiting my sister," she gulped uncomfortably. Everyone was afraid of the unfamiliar. Everyone was afraid of change, and her _world _had suddenly changed. "Coltrane said he'd see me – in Tokyo. I live in…I don't know even know if I still live here in Danville." It wasn't a question, it was a simple fact, one she had been denying for the past few days.

Baljeet said nothing.

The door suddenly opened, and someone entered the room. A stately woman, a Hirano by the looks of it, with long hair and an elegant presence. It took her a moment to realize this woman was Stacy. She approached her bed, placing her hand on her younger sister's shoulder "It's good to see you Ginger. The medical staff hasn't been allowing you any visitors over the past few days."

Shocked, she looked at Baljeet, then back at Stacy, wanting to say something along the lines of, _What's going on?! _Was she the only one who could see that if her sister couldn't come than it was _his_ fault? Stacy smiled gently. "How are you feeling?"

How was she feeling? She was feeling a lot of things, including stress, fatigue, anxiety – fear. She hated how she felt, and desperately wanted to know _who she was,_ but was too afraid to ask. "I'm...fine," she mumbled, looking down.

"I'll let you get some rest. I'm told you had a panic attack. Amnesia can be...very traumatizing." She briefly pressed his lips to the top of her head – something she hadn't expected her to do. Something she'd never _known _her sister to do. Stacy then nodded to Baljeet. "Can I speak to you outside?"

She stared as the Indian man followed her sister out of the room. What was Stacy speaking to _him _about?

Ginger silently hugged herself. Things that hadn't made sense before...she was beginning to discern. Baljeet, Baljeet, Baljeet... She watched him return, and he immediately noticed her paleness.

"What's wrong?"

She squeezed her eyes closed. "Before, you tried to...to kiss me, right?" She took a deep breath. She'd never kissed a man. Well, she didn't _remember _ever kissing a man, but she could have...possibly...done a whole lot more. She felt like an eleven-year-old stuck in a twenty-five-year-old's body. But with five-hundred-million more emotions. And Baljeet, of all people, he was...everywhere. He was her world. "You're—my b-boyfriend?" –

"Try husband." Perhaps he was impatient, as she claimed quite regularly in their household. Perhaps it had been a mistake, some sort of drunk-night human mistake. Baljeet watched her, expecting her to turn green, to sweat, to vomit-

She was blushing. "You're lying."

He shrugged, slightly amused. "Maybe," he muttered.

"You shouldn't say that. Don't make me think you're lying – then I can't trust anything you say!"

She had stopped being nervous around him. Baljeet slowly approached. "So you like me," he accused.

"It's not my fault," Ginger argued, though she wasn't _really_ arguing. "I'm predisposed to _like_ you." Her voice had become louder, stronger, as though she was quite accustomed to bickering with this man.

"We fell in love," Baljeet mentioned. He was suddenly beside the bed. He leaned over her, like the last time, but Ginger dropped to her pillows, feeling dazed. Through half-lidded eyes, she stared up at him, shaking, breathing, but Baljeet was undeterred. With his hands stationed on either side of her head, he leaned closer until the warmth of his breath tickled her lips.

Ginger's eyelids almost completely lowered. She desperately needed answers, and she couldn't run away again. Though she was absolutely terrified...she was also enthralled. "What do I love about you?" she murmured faintly.

He kissed her, and it wasn't intense as she expected it would be. It was soft, careful. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, feeling him climb over her, and his lips trail to her neck. Her face reddened, and she gasped for breath, but images – vague, obscure, but sometimes quite clear – they returned viciously, each with its own assault, and she could barely manage a whimper when Baljeet's lips met hers again. She kissed him back, allowing it to deepen, and his tongue to knead hers, nipping, tasting, exploring every inch of her mouth.

She withdrew for air, and watched Baljeet smirk. He lightly bit her nose. "You remember this," he mused.

She couldn't organize what she did and didn't remember, but the prospect of not being with Baljeet – of not remembering his glares she deemed to be pouts, or those nights in his office when she had to lure him to bed, his insistent bites and kisses, the monotonous way he did everything, except for loving her- "Oh god, I need you, I need you - _Baljeet_-"

She gasped, because suddenly he was touching her - touching her in places she hadn't touched herself, and showing her precisely what each spot was for.

"I probably shouldn't be – _traumatizing you_, like this," Baljeet muttered vaguely, working his way along her jaw and toward ear. "But I'm a man. Or a lecher. _You _call me a lecher."

Despite their tangled limbs, she messily climbed over him, until she had pushed him to the mattress and was straddling his waist. Baljeet submitted, compliant...pleased. "I think I'm one as well," she weakly offered, staring down at him.

She loved that vague hint of a smirk upon his lips, the dark gleam of his eyes, the curls now scattered messily through his hair, the fact that he was odd, exotic, intelligent and beautiful, a living contradiction and he was all hers. He was far stronger than he looked, and far weaker than he looked, and she wanted him, _needed _him-

And then she collapsed against him, her face in his chest, sobbing, crying, she couldn't stop crying. She was hysterical again and didn't know why. She felt Baljeet's body stiffen beneath her.

"Ginger...," he mentioned tersely, some traces of worry in his voice.

She began to cry harder and felt his arms encircle her waist. She remembered Washington D.C., their home, their life – he the president of a prominent Fortune 500 biotech firm, and she an ambassador to the United State from Uruguay. She should have scolded him for being there, waiting for her, when he should have been dealing with his job. She remembered his kisses, their nights – their many late nights – she remembered her attack near the airport. The world was so much safer these days that it was easy to forget that there were still bad people out there who wouldn't mind risking the chance to take hostage a woman. Especially one who was the wife of one of the richest men and the sister to the President of Uruguay. She had managed to escape the people after her and get help but had suffered head trauma during the incident and collapsed at the scene. He must have had her transferred from Atlanta to Danville while she was out.

And now she was awake again. "I think you've traumatized me," she mumbled wryly. Her lips connected with the hollow in the center of his collarbone, and she listened to his breathing deepen.

The door opened. "It's good to see you two getting along."

Ginger blushed hotly when she realized that Isabella had entered the room, though her husband seemed unaffected. She attempted to climb off him, but tripped on one of their limbs, and started to topple over the side of the bed. Her body quickly met an arm that caught her and helped her settle up straight by the bed.

Baljeet had moved sitting up to catch Ginger, but he stared at the wall, still breathing in surprise. He carefully righted himself, smoothing his clothes, and briefly nodded to the people who had followed the blue-eyed, dark-haired doctor in.

It seemed her friends were coming to visit her after all. Adyson and Gretchen were here.

And they were smirking. Ginger feared her face would catch fire.

"How's your memory?" _Mrs. Flynn_ inquired.

"Better," said Ginger, gripping the bed rail in embarrassment.

"Obviously," said Isabella, jabbing Baljeet with her elbow. "You couldn't keep it in your pants until she was home?" Baljeet stammered out something incoherent. This only managed to heighten the Ginger's embarrassment. Isabella was holding a chart. "Do you think you're ready to get out of here?" she inquired.

Ginger hurriedly nodded, and the corner of Baljeet's mouth twitched.

"I'll leave your discharge papers on the counter and let you two get back to...um..." Her friend flashed a teasing grin and exited the room, pulling her friends by their shirtsleeves behind her. Ginger felt her blush deepen.

Baljeet stood. "So you remember?" he questioned.

Ginger walked to his side. "There are black spots," she stated, staring up at him.

He caught her in another kiss, lightly biting her bottom lip as he pulled away, paused, then kissed her again, muffling her feeble protests. "We'll have to work on that," he muttered against her.


End file.
